


Bright Points, Dark Places.

by Sing



Series: I Come Baring Gifts [2]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Action, Axe Murderer Abbie, Bisexual Male Character, F/M, Genderqueer Crane, Hooker Crane, Pretty Woman inspired, Romance, V for Vendetta inspired, Vigilante Justice, crazy prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-18 01:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sing/pseuds/Sing
Summary: Abbie Mills is out to deliver her own brand of justice in a severely troubled Sleepy Hollow.Ichabod Crane is just a man trying to survive, living his truest life, being his truest self.The night they meet face to face, changes everything they knew about the cruel world, they'd come to know.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FantasyOfMine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyOfMine/gifts).



> I do not own V for Vendetta  
> I do not own Pretty Woman  
> I do not own Sleepy Hollow.
> 
> I'm doing something really different with this one folks. But aren't I always?

Sleepy Hollow isn't the place it used to be.

The United States isn't the place it used to be.

And Lord knows, the world ain't what it used to be, if it ever was the idyllic thing people always harken back to when times are rough.

But there's a resurgence of bad, small minded things these days. Someone let the low browed masses out to play during election time, and there's a terror on the loose. Him and a brigade of enforcers for his bigoted and self serving laws. It's not safe to be different, anymore. Not safe to want more for yourself.

It's dangerous to be black.

It's dangerous to worship.

It's dangerous to be you, in this new world that doesn't seem to want to embrace change.

How did it take so many steps back here, well they were always walking backwards, one supposes. Underneath the progress there were always a few, back tracking and retreating to those hallowed dear 'simple times' when harmful ideals and prejudices served the patriarchy and their masses. Where they had lion share of power and had no one with bravery or guts, voice or power to argue it.

The world has turned its face from the sun, and on it now, falls a shadow, an impenetrable darkness. Hate crimes rise and people die and justice is neither swift nor all that fair.

People are outraged and there is unrest.

They are perhaps on the brink of war within themselves.

But she wages her own war, on who she can.

Grace Abigail Mills, bequeathed a fortune upon the death of her mother, formerly a staunch, brilliant member of the Sleepy Hollow Police Force, left abruptly and never looked back. Weary of uniform that grants so few peace. Weary of knowing that without it she is just as easily a target. She wears a new mask now a new armour. When she left the force, she laid low for a while. Trying to find meaning and herself away from a job that seemed to have abandoned her and the people in its duty to serve and protect them and had instead become a vehicle of fear. It wasn't just the police.

It was the politicians.

It was the party leaders conflating religious values with us vs them.

People calling for cleansing and riling up disdain and discord. Turning suspicious gazes on immigrants. Denying rights to those who loved and walked and expressed differently than the status quo. It's a free country, a free world, and she loves it----or what it seemed, or at least what it had been pretending to be, for a brief reprieve, before hatred reared it's head again.

It's a dark, censored time. It's no place for levity, brightness or hope. Just a righteous fight----be it with axe, blade, gun, dart---whatever weapon she can lay hands on these days she found herself amid a rather impressive cache of weaponry---guns especially seem even easier to obtain these days.

She likes to think it's a bit of irony when her bullet shreds threw the forehead of the Counsellor Forester Schultz---pushed back against all calls for gun control---He'd been going on about enforcing screenings and round ups. Reporting procedures for those that 'threatened our customs and safety' He'd already begun a camp and there had been raids, reports of missing family and friends, went out one night for a grocery run and didn't return. He was always quick to point fingers when explosions sounded and people died---citing, too eagerly, the blood on the hands ofa whole religion---rather than single out and name the lone terrorist seeking to rot them from within. Well, she got that terrorist too, on transport to his jail cell.

Riddle me this, she'd thought as she cleaned her guns that night. Why should I spare the life of a disgruntled mass murderer, when he cared so very little for the innocents that he stole? The enemies are the ones in power and the upstarts and rogues that seek to obey them, slovenly in their devotion. They are a plague, and she intends to purge them.

Abbie Mills, is, _The Witness._

* * *

 

"Beware The Witness" the news blares. It plays over the radio and the television and scrolls across wanted shadowy silhouetted posters. They call hera terrorist---she'd laughed heartily at that----they called her an unhinged madman----there you go underestimating women again, she'd mused.

They'd said she was dangerous, a lethal killer, and would ruin them all until she was stopped.

Well, she smirked. You aren't wrong, there.

She kicks off her boots and and hangs stalks upstairs, axe in hand. She doesn't always use ole gal Grace, but if there's someoneparticularly disgusting and she has the time to manage clean up afterwards, she'd bring Grace out for a good time. She gleams in the pretty moonlight before she sets her in a broad deep inscribed chest and shuffles it under the bed.

Tomorrow morning there'll be news of a Neo Nazi found hacked to bits in his car after leaving a rally. There'll be hysteria and an enforced curfew that they'll fail to point out doesn't apply to minorities.

It's an insidious trick, and don't ask her how the word got out to most who aren't considered the destruction of society----but curfews are meant to protect, the 'majority' The ones who follow the party leaders. The ones who obey rules and want this pristine monolithic world. Curfews are meant to keep the innocents inside, so they can savage any of the poor and non cooperative on the streets. So they can vanish them under the guise of investigation and pack more away to camps.

To let the immigrants wander freely at night and wonder why they've been pulled over. Why they're being questioned. Why no one's listening to their answers. Why they're in a cell.

And why they're found dead in that cell the next day while in custody.

She knew it was coming, of course. She knew her actions would incite what is effectively a trap for the marginalized. So she does her own broadcast.

It's not flashy, but she does have the smarts and no how to short circuit signals and create her own. She issues a simple warning through the hijacked, and suddenly muted news station. Her voice radiates out in distorted waves.

"If you are not affiliated with the Party do not be out after hours this night or the rest of this week. Be home by six. No later . This is Your Witness, I vow to take care of you."

Her announcement ends and she watched on screen as the news crew flusters and flummoxes of the momentary freezing of their station.

Solomon Kent, the Counsellor's successor appears on the screen, vowing with his narrow greedy eyes to catch The Witness, and bring them low for their trickery.

He's a dangerous man. He seeks to police women and degrades those who don't adhere to his standards, infamous for sayingthat a woman who is assaulted brings it upon herself, "If her skirt is too short"---most notably, he'd repeated this during an interview the same day of a Take Back The Night March.

He'd also said vile things about transgressing the 'norm' But seeing how he can control women first---seems his primary aim. But his views and speeches had

inflamed and incensed activists wildly, and no surprise the walk was sabotaged with police corralling them off the streets, and the women and allies who would not willfully go found themselves maliciously chased and hunted down by Kent Supporters, backwater small minded wicked followers who meant to impress upon them the importance of Kent's message. To teach them a lesson.

If your skirt is too short, do not expect to be safe.

It was a near massacre of rights. A night of violation. A black mark and smudge on their history that will be known Darkest Night.

Her first unplanned murder had been that night. Trying to stave off and rescue people as they fled. It had been bare handed. A brute and friends baring down on a couple. One of them a heap on the floor as kick after punch landed. The other fighting against those trying to hold them down and pushing at their dress---she went in with fists and training. Snapped necks, broke fingers and had to be gone before they could start decrying that the Witness was among them and launch a man hunt. She'd checked over her shoulder at the bloody, tear streaked faces and had remembered what she was doing all of this for."I'll take care of you," she'd assured, calling over her shoulder. Back out on the main road she'd called for help and sent an ambulance in the direction of the alley where they lay.

Maybe it wouldn't be them, per se.

But the people being ground under boot and heel.

The people being murdered and harmed for existing and being them.

She would take care of them----by fighting this fight how she could---the only way she knew.

She's had close calls.

But she's small and swift and smarter than most.

She knows how to follow rules long enough to survive before she takessledgehammer to them and causes disarray. So after she issues her warning, and the city goes on lock down, and the authorities and Followers go carousing for people to harm in retaliation for her crime, she takes a long soak in the tub and peruses her calendar.

They're holding a ball for Solomon Kent next week. To celebrate his rise to Counsellor since Schultz is dead.

She doesn't intent on giving him much time to enforce any of the laws nor ideals that he boasts. She hopes it will make a poignant statement if she can assassinate him at his own party.

* * *

 

Attending an event like Solomon's alone, she knows,would seem a form of protest. And she can't afford to be labelled a disturber before she sets foot in the doors. He's of a firm mind, and others like him, that women invite trouble by their dress, and by the company they do or not keep. They should keep a level, sober head, to avoid assault----and they should not be expected the luxury of protecting or preventing unwanted outcomes from said attacks.

There's a bill on the table at the moment---which Abbie is sure Solomon is in a hurry to pass----that will abolish funding for women's health care and benefits. Including terminationof things unplanned or unwanted.

It's barbaric and backwards, and no self respecting free woman would abide it----but she's got to blend in pass security. Being stunning in her red dress won't be enough. Beside illicit whispers and perhaps court attention of other Party members themselves. So she goes driving through Red Light.

It's a street people know. She'll pick up someone to be her date for the night----pay them handsomely.

She's not picky about who goes with her----Solomon is fond of the buddy system among women---so long as they're attire doesn't awaken the beastly nature of men and they don't drink---he's not in a power yet to begin taking issue with members of the LGBTQ community. But she's certain he will, in good time. And she doesn't intend to patiently wait for the time to come. As she cruises by she spots a tall creature in a massive mottled fur and dirty blond hair stalking along the streets. When they turn she notices they're wearing the darkest most over sized sunglasses. She slows down and they saunter over.

This is a tall ass chick she thinks until they draw near and she can make out the etchings of a beard.

They lean down to the window. "Can I interest you in a good time?" the husky warm voice asks.

Abbie looks them over. On the inside of the coat they were a simple shirt, tucked into a short red skirt. On his feet, tall flat boots. "I need a date,' she calls, looking them over again. "I've got a party I'm going to and it'll be embarrassing to go alone. What's your price"

"I don't date." they reply with a readiness that makes her wonder how often do they get the request. "A night of fun, however you like. one hundred."

"I'll give you ten times that for the evening. Come to the party with me, what's your name?"

They pause. Blinking unsurely.

"Are you with them," he asks, stepping back from the car, as if to scurry away. "Are you---"

They're gonna bolt. "Wait, wait, no. Look at me. I'm a black woman, in, the newly declared Counsellor Solomon Kent's Sleepy Hollow, you think I'd work for him? I live my life in double jeopardy."

"You can't know."They reply skittishly. "Especially….well, look at me. I've gotten on the wrong end of someone while out before and……" their voice drops. Their gaze slides away and all six foot of them seems to shrink.

"Hey." Abbie coaxes. "I'm not even interested in all of that. I just gotta go to this function and I need company. Showing unaccompanied to these things these days is asking for trouble. Hop in, I'll take care of you."

"One grand," they reiterate. "For one night."

Abbie glances up and down the street, where a few other walkers meander, male and female. The dimly lit motel at the end of the street. The dark alleys for quick transactions.

"Six, for the week." she says.

Their eyes grow wide. "Six?"

"Sleep some place warm, yeah? feel safe at night? It's rough right now but might give you a little time to try and get on your feet." she hesitates before giving her name. "I'm, I'm Abbie."

"Ichabod, Crane."and slides into the seat when she pops the door open.

She's surprised he smells this warm and woodsy after being out in that street in the cold and damp. "You been out here long?" she asks.

" About a year. You should know, this is me, by the way, it's not a gimmick. I do like, dresses, and makeup, and shirts and boots, I am a spectrum and I fall on it, any given day. Or off it, if I choose."

Abbie nods her head carefully and glances at his lean muscular legs.

"I do however, over dress somewhat, when….when I work. it helps me, distance myself from it, a bit. And some people pay more for a man as comfortable in their skin as I am. Men and women alike----" he rambles and Abbie smirks.

"A man of varied tastes, huh."

He barks a laugh. "You may say so I----" he stops talking abruptly and Abbie glances over at him, wondering why.

He's staring at her with wide eyes. "I know your voice." he starts.

She remains calm. She always uses distortion when making an announcement----it's impossible. "I'm told it's familiar," she chuckles.

"I have an eidetic memory"

She wrinkles her nose. "Is that contagious----"

"On the Darkest Night." he begins, and Abbie's being clenches. "I…..I was out with my boyfriend, Donahue, we were going home, running really,from the march-----when we were attacked."

Her heart pounds.

"They beat Donahue within and inch of his life. And me well…..my skirt, was too---short." he swallows around the golf ball sized lump thats taken form in his throat. Abbie pulls over the car and turns in her seat. He's shaking.

"Someone saved, us."

No. Abbie thinks, feeling her own fingers tremble.

"I'l take care of you. That's what you said just now. And that's what our rescuer said then----it's you. You're----" and suddenly it seems a new thought has occurred to him. "They say that. The assassin picking them off. The men that night, you murdered them. No one fights like that----you----You're the Witness."

For a moment Abbie doesn't answer. She knows she should deny it, and fiercely. But she's shaken up by this encounter now. To think she's in a car now with the very person she saved that night.

"You're----" he seems about to panic. "You're dangerous, you're……you hacked up that White Pride Leader, you shot Forester Schultz---"

"Ichabod"

"You're a murderer---"

"Would you prefer I hadn't?" She snaps, irritated bythe way his voice begins to creep up. "The world is better for the lack of them---and I plan to do Solomon Kent the favour, so will you come with me or not."

She watches his adam's apple bob and with a shuddering sigh he wedges his fingers beneath the blond fringe and wrenches the wig off. She's surprised to find he has a lovely head of golden brown locks.

"I fear you for your violence, not who you use it on. It has saved me----I thank you, for that….they might have killed us both that night, Donahue and I, when they were finished."

"Did….were you….."

"Nothing more than my yelling and pleaing for them to stop." He says, eyes downcast. "You stopped them before they could do the worst of it."

"And….Donahue?"

He inhales sharply. "Sometimes perhaps, shared trauma, might bring individuals closer together, but upon us it had the opposite effect…..he was badly injured, after. And he was on substantial medications, of which he's become heavily addicted. We have parted ways romantically. But…..well I do this to take care of him. His unemployment ran out and I…..I was too shaken up to return to my job. So here I am. I'm more like a caregiver to him now. I've triedgetting him clean but----"

"You don't have to," She cuts in, laying a hand on his. "This is all a lot of information for you and….you don't owe me explanations Ichabod---that's a mouthful, mind if I call you Crane?"

His mouth quirks and she notices how blue his eyes are. Pretty. "That would be fine, Witness,"

"No," she chortles. "You can't go around calling me that. You'll get me killed. Abbie." she insists.

"Abbie," he tries, tumbling the name on his tongue. She seems to have forgotten what she picked him up for. He says it again while holding her gaze water gathers in his eyes. "Abbie, thank you, for……if you hadn't come."

She reaches forward quickly and brushes away the tear squeezing from his lashes. "Don't thank me. You shouldn't thank a cold blooded killer…..I'm dangerous. Remember that."

He nods tightly but reaches back to grip her hand. He holds her gaze. "You've been the bravest of us all, if the most terrifying. I won't forget that."

"We should…..clean you up, for the party."

It seems for the first time then that he notices her attire. It's a modestly cut thing. High necked though sleeveless in a daring vibrant shade of red, floor length with a small train. His eyes trail down to her feet, daintily pressing down the gas in glittering stilettos.

"Your shoes are very, very nice."

She gives a small smile. "For tonight, your safety, Something a little less sparkly----but if you've got the balance?"

"Poise is my middle name," he assures her.

"I've got a gal who, should have just the thing. She stays open late for me----because I'm eccentric" she air quotes. "And I pay well. But she doesn't know what I am or what I do. So staymum."

"Yes, Abbie."

"You look like you have something else to say."

"I've heard it said that beautiful women can be truly dangerous----I hadn't understood how much. I'd thought my last girlfriendsjealousy---before Donahue---Mary Wells, an absolute embodiment of envy--- was the extent of it. You far surpass the myth."

"I promise if you trust me Crane. You'll be safe."

"Would you vow it, like the Witness does?"

She squeezes his hand. "I vow, I'll take care of you."

* * *

 

"Abbie!…..and?" Caroline furrows her brow.

"I need some quick magic Caroline, I've got a party tonight."

Caroline looks Crane over, whether she's perplexed by him himself or his cobbled together clothes Abbie can't decide until---

"Where did you get this awful coat? What animal is this?"

Crane flusters….."It's…..it's….."

"It's best left dead on a highway and not on your body. Look at you, all this height beneath this thing you look like a mammoth. Here." she hands him a sleek dark thing, soft to the touch. He cringes.

"Dear heaven is this real?"

Caroline purses her lips. "The finest synthetic around. Thank you very much. But's the best faux mink you'll ever wear. try it on." She all but hauls his current coat off before draping this new one on his shoulders. She spins him toward the mirror.

"Dashing, isn't it Abbie?"

Abbie struggles to put together the luxe looking new fur with the wrinkled shirt and skirt that do not match. "Finish the rest of him and hurry" she taps her watch. "Fashionably late has limits."

* * *

 

He comes out in a svelte satin dress and her heart warms watching him caress the fabric with delight, wildly gesturing for a military coat to go over top of it.

"You like that one?" she asks.

He whirls around, shocked. "The coat?"

"Coat, dress, both, they're yours. But keep going, those are fun, but not quite right for tonight."

"Abbie," he starts, embarrassed by her kindness. "I couldn't----"

"They're beautiful on you. I'll be insulted if you refuse."

She thinks she sees his eye beginning to well before he turns back around hurriedly into the change room.

He emerges in a handsome suit after.

A fetching skirt, asymmetrical khaki coloured thing cut a little high in the front and longer behind with sleeve detailing that wraps around the waist. "That goes with the military coat." Abbie nods. "That too Caroline."

She watches Crane turn to admonish her again but a glare from her silences him.

* * *

 

It's just shy of half an hour when Ichabod emerges from the back room that Caroline stuffed him in. Caroline runs this top notch boutique with just about everything you could want at hand. She dabbles in hair and makeup, so she's often the perfect go to when you want a completely new look.

Abbie notices the polished sleek heeled ankle boots first. That's about three inches he certainly doesn't need, she thinks. And let's her eyes trail upward. The long lean legs, adorned in tailored black pants. Up, to the dark shirt beneath the filigreed and brocade burnished amber and silvery grey vest. A darkest navy long draping thing, nearly sweeping the floor with cuffed sleeves hangs off his frame. It looks more like a robe and made of a material that moves lightly when he strides forward, a little nervous. Caroline styled his hair and gave his beard a trim. His eyes are lined, very lightly with navy as well, and a chain hangs around his neck. A sapphire stud in his ear.

The collar of the shirt is opened just slightly.

For a moment all Abbie can do is gape. It's a transformation she hadn't anticipated.

He nervously tucks a strand behind his ear. "Well?"

"So much for blending in," she smiles as she rises from her seat. "You look……I want to say handsome I want to say beautiful I'm not quite sure which word fits more." she laughs lightly.

Caroline preens proudly of her work.

"You're welcome."

"Appreciate it Caroline. Well grab your bags Crane. We've got a party."

"No the road kill stays here with me." Caroline scolds when Crane tries to retrieve his coat. "Take Minxy there, have fun and be safe." she coos.

Abbie flashes her a smile. "Always am."

* * *

 

It's lavish. Everyone finely dressed and pressed and Crane passes as something between an a prince or magician. Whatever it is, he's captivating. The women's eyes follow him and even a few men---who quickly avert their gaze----rake their eyes over his form. He's a good match for her in her red dress, perfectly off setting her beautiful skin. He had insisted she tuck her hand into the crook of his arm before entering and had pulled her a little close outside the doors.

"Crane?" she'd asked.

"I must confess, Abbie," he stresses. "That I am nervous to enter a place that harbours so many----that on any given day of the week wish people like me, and countless others, yourself included," his eyes suddenly seem distant and sad. "That wish so many harm. I….I'm not sure I can----"

"You're with me, Crane. And No one is getting hurt…..except for a certain Counsellor, if I'm half as good as they say."

He'd nodded and swallowed. "And….dare I ask, how you……please tell me you do not have an axe concealed on your person?"

The suggestion so amused her she'd thrown her head back and laughed before rapping smartly on the door. "Don't be silly," her voice echoed, high and clear before dropping down to a conspiratorial whisper. He had to bend to be at ear level and it painted the perfect picture of a couple whispering intimately in one another's ear.

"Poisoned darts and a gun. Much easier to conceal." Without warning she'd grabbed his hand and hauled it against her thigh.

Confused he gave her thigh a squeeze and Abbie snickered. "Not my thigh, Crane, God," and shifted his hand down to where he could feel the pistol in the holster.

"Of course," he flushed with embarrassment but then failed to move his hand for a moment before remembering himself.

"I'll let you know when I'm ready to move. Just stay beside me,"

He swept her a bow. Something about the picture of him in his new clothes and the courtly manner of it made her heart flutter. Focus, Mills she scolded herself. We've got work to do. "I go where you go." he vows softly. "Our fates are entwined now."

Abbie gives him the smallest smile in return."It would seem they are."

* * *

 

An explosion.

Not hers. Not her plan.

Chandeliers shatter and lights blow out. A piece of wall crumbles.

Screams rip through the hall and the guests scatter. She's confused by this turn of events, she cant understand it, but she can't deny it poses as a perfect distraction for her to take her shot.

"Abbie run!" Crane tugs nervously on her arm, trying desperately to hold on to her in the crush of people. "Abbie!" He begs.

"This might be my one chance," She hisses, "Go with them," she urges. "Get outside."

"I'll not leave you." He hisses back. "You told me to stay with you. I go where you go." he repeats.

Her gut twists when she notes the sincerity in his eyes. "Keep up." she implores, wrenching her arm away she gathers her skirt and begins running forward into the fray, a red dash among smoke and rubble darting toward the balcony where she'd last seen Kent and his men.

Crane follows behind her. A flash of black and blue weaving after her in her wake until she can see Kent being herded towards a back entrance. It's absolute chaos and disarray all around and she gets behind a pillar with just enough time to unholster her gun. At that very moment Crane arrives beside her.

She aims, fires.

More terrified yelling joins the cacophony and there's a flurry of movement and confusion among Kent and the guards as he goes down. I can't tell if I got him, she curses inwardly. Crane grabs her, spinning her around to run.

But then there is return fire.

A burning sensation burrowed hotly into her skin. Her knees buckle.

"No, no, no."

"Run, Crane, go," she pushes at him but his long arms circle around her and lifts her up into his arms.

"No way, in **_hell_**." he bites out, braving the throng of people he pushes through and kicks out with his feet and runs, blending into the mob still making their panicked exits.

The pain is unexpected and worsens with each jostle.

"Crane----"

"Ssssh. Damn it." he casts about once outside for her vehicle, going at a full charge, he gets her in the car and put himself in the drivers seat. She gives him hurried directions of where to find her keys. Her voice sounds muffled, faraway and strange. He glances over at her, looking pale and feverish.

He glances at the wound, that won't stop bleeding.

He shirks off the expensive garment from Caroline and presses down hard. "Keep the pressure on Abbie," he mutters as he puts his hands back on the wheel. She nods weakly as she presses down, groaning at the pain.

"Stay with me," he pleas, backing out and tearing down the street.

She barely manages to get out the address before she goes quiet.

"No no no. Abbie. Stay with me, please, I beg you. You'll be alright." He swallows thickly and glances over at her again, his heart clenching. "I'll take care of you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BIG shout out to Neicy @4eversamcedes for helping me write the beginning of this. She's been AMAZING.  
> Also shout out to Thymelady being my sounding board in my character development.
> 
> These ladies are boss and have made this fic so AWESOME.
> 
> One more chap to go!

Obscenities flow from his mouth in a steady stream, weaving through the traffic in a panic.

He can't seem to focus.

He keeps having flashbacks to Darkest Night.

The screaming the terror, the fleeing people. Violence tucked in a dark repressed corner of his mind rears up and then he replays that moment of rescue. A face he hadn't been able to see through the swollen eye----and to know that face tonight, to see it in all of its beauty and openness---to know his rescuer, this small fire bright woman of such might and will---The Witness, a trembling mass beside him in the car. Her dress a ruin of blood. He veers and narrowly avoids drifting into the lane of oncoming traffic.

It's too much.

He can't seem to separate the two events now, he has a horrible feeling that they might be followed. That people are coming for them.

She can't die, not on his watch----it would be just his luck, but he can't allow it.

He manages quick glances at her. "Witness, Abbie---h--hold on, we are almost at the hos---"

Where moments before she had been silent her eyes flash open with scattered alertness. "No! no hospital!" she gestures towards a device, grimacing through pain, located near the dash and he scrabbles to hand it to her. She presses a finger to the screen and it loads with directions to a remote cabin.

"Follow, follow," she wheezes and gasps, hissing through her teeth and he floors the gas, driving maniacally, going where the lights and robotic voice show.

* * *

 

It's a secluded cabin in a woodsy area. He stops the car and lifts her out as hurriedly and carefully as he can, sprinting inside. He flusters at the door a moment with his arms full and in his haste and frustration kicks and kicks until it gives and searches for a place to rest her. The bed. He sighs gratefully as he deposits her, quickly stripping her out of the dress. She groans and grunts---it breaks him, it fragments several quarters of him to think she who has been fighting a solo fight like this so long and could know this much pain and hurt.

That his hero could be a victim.

He surveys the wound in her abdomen. The caved in flesh and the blood and wills his stomach to settle.

He is, was, a nurse. Before. Before, before, before irreversible events made him skittish of daylight and his coworkers and peers, before he was riddled with fears and nightmares and suspicion of people he'd always known. He's seen wounds before, been in the emergency room while people have been stitched up before he knows what to do he's seen it. It's in his memory bank if he could just stave off his own recurring memories of Donahue broken and bleeding in a hospital bed.

If he could stop seeing purple and black bruises and so much blood. If he could forget his own coldness sitting outside with his arm in a sling and his bruised ribs.

His hands shake and the helplessness of that night come surging back. All his knowledge, his training, flee him. "Abbie," he rasps, desperate, despairing. "Abbie I don't know if I can do this, Please let me call---"

"No" she shakes her head vehemently. "They'll be searching hospitals after tonight." she gasps. "Reports of bullet wounds, no. Look at me Crane." she commands. "You can do this. Okay?"

He meets her eyes and settles into the present with her, reeled sharply back from the dark parts of his mind. "Yes. Yes, tell me what to do,"

A smile. In the mire of her pain the fact that she can smile encouragingly at him, even though it is fleeting----gives him hope and determination. He can do this, he _will,_ do this.

"Good. Good." she nods gratefully. "Now, reach inside and pull out the casing. It feels as if it's about an inch and half deep."

He takes a deep breath and he lets her guide his fingers inside and retrieves the shells. He feels a brief triumph having managed that but then she begins to shiver.

He runs his hands up her arms, smearing them with blood. "Crane," she chatters through the haze. "I---I need you to get the needle and thread there." He obeys, swiftly, quickly. And watches in astonished horror as she sits up, grunting with the effort to begin stitching the gaping hole. Face stoic as she pulls the needle through, she manages a few stitches before her hands begin to shake. Spots dance in her eyes. But then she feels Crane's hand land on hers, the transfer of the needle is smooth and easy as he works.

"I can finish," he assures. "I….I have my wits about me now. I know what to do…I can do this," he offersa weak smile and completes five more stitches, tying off the end. He pours the sterile water cleaning solution over the wound and places a gauze dressing.

Now that he's in the present, now that his mind is clear he falls back into routine, to things he knows. A medical background that has the tools to take care of her. He feels a confidence in himself that has long abandoned him. He's so engrossed in his task he barely notices that Abbie is out cold.

Crane can finally breathe and he does something he hasn't in a while.

He thanks God for saving her.

Yes, they've only met tonight, and she saved him before, but it's more than that. He can feel it. There's a pull, a drawing force as if they are meant for each other. Their paths, and maybe even their futures, destined to entwine.

With that thought he bunches up the red bloody dress and drapes a blanket over her, puts away the tools and glances around the cabin. He's too fidgety to sleep.

Perhaps a cup of tea.

Donahue used to laugh and tease how Crane relied on the calming properties of a proper cup.

"It's never failed me yet," he mutters to himself as he goes searching for the kettle.

* * *

 

Abbie's eyes crack open and see Crane perched in a chair bedside, pulled up close. His head resting slightly on her stomach.The gentle weight of him there, and the arm thrown over her legs, half holding her, warms her inside. It's been a while, too long, since she's had someone in her corner.

Lone wolf kinda goes hand in hand with becoming a wanted Vigilante. And she had to keep her mission first.

As she gazes at him she notices the soft light from the early sun casting its rays on his face. Lighting him up, shining like an angel. Her angel. The thought scares her. When you consign your life to a single handed war, you stop hoping for anything to be 'yours' You just want to fight for people's rights to have 'theirs'. 'Theirs' being rights, safety, their own family and loved ones without fear of a regime seeking to pummel them into the ground. But here he is.

Making her suddenly, insanely, want something, someone, of her own.

She can't be having feelings for a total stranger, can she?

It's a possibility she doesn't dare entertain, after all, she could put him in jeopardy. She'd have to let him go she can't let him tangle himself up in this---

"Did you know your brow scrunches when you're in deep thought" Crane asks in a groggy, sleep laden voice.

His voice reverberates in her head and makes her skin, her being tingle in ways that alarm her. She clears her throat. "You should have slept. You need rest, too."

"Ah." he sits up, stretches. "I much preferred to keep vigil over my Vigilante."

His, Vigilante.

_His._

Her heart traitorously rears takes off in a gallop and she snickers nervously,"That's the cheesiest---"and then winces. He lays a finger against her lips.

"Easy." he coaxes. Somehow he senses she's about to argue with him. "Ssh. You take care of the world. Abbie let me take care of you."

"Crane---"

"Is being contrary a fatal flaw for you or just an endearing character trait?"

"Since when are you snarky?"

His mouth curls into a sort of secret smile. "It already feels like I've known you a life time. But the reality is we've just met, and there's still so much for you to know. To learn about each other."

Abbie wants to blame anything, absolutely anything but her own deep wants for the words that come out of her mouth next. "I can't wait."

He bites his lips together and reaches to hold her hand, lifting it to his lips, he brushes a kiss against her knuckles. "Neither can I."

His eyes twinkle, she notices.

Oh no, she thinks.

A black hole opens up in her mind and Abbie can't seem to stop her self from walking right into it, and falling, falling, falling, down, down-----

Impossible. It's too quick there's no way----

But she thinks she's falling for him.

* * *

 

Abbie hasn't been spoon fed since she was a child, and even then her mother regaled her with stories of her stubbornness, refusing to be coddled. To find herself now, wounded in a bed, propped up by billows and being sharply reprimanded if she reaches for the spoon herself is too much for her brain to absorb let alone allow.

"Give me the damn spoon----"

"Over my dead body will you feed yourself. You are not going to strain or move a muscle while I'm here." Crane retorts snappily. He's changed clothes. He at least listened to her insistence that he go take a shower and wash away the previous nights grime. Which he had agreed to after cleaning and redressing her wound and easing her into an easy light over sized shirt and back into bed. It's the khaki skirt she bought him last night and a crisp collared white shirt now, rolled up at the sleeves. He's bare faced, but she expects he's probably using lip balm----when he'd leaned in to take her temperature, and inexplicably suddenly deciding he needed to check if she had any scrapes or cuts he'd missed other forehead----and then he'd wanted to check her eyes, he couldn't seem to stop checking things now that he remembered he could----she caught the whiff of what she thought must have been strawberry or watermelon near by. And he keeps licking his lips in the way of one tasting a flavoured balm.

It's very distracting. A simple silver ball stud in his ear.And in one hand a bowl of delicious smelling soup, and the other the spoon he refuses to let her grasp.

"And how long are you here again" she snaps.

"I believe the lady employed me for a week." 

"That's a bargain I'm regretting deeply right now." she groans but opens her mouth obediently for the next spoonful and catches the smile playing across his lips. "What are you smiling about."

He sets the soup down and clasps his hands, takes a deep breath. "Would it be strange to say I am the most at ease here, at this moment, that I've been since…..since well I started working the street." he glances around the cabin. "Is this where you live, truly? This is the Witnesses lair?"

She snorts and grimaces. "No, but it was closer than my house in a state of emergency. This cabin comes from my mentor. He passed some years ago. My mother, just a few years before that. Mama left me a fortune, Corbin left me a cabin. Property and wealth is all I have of them----that probably sounds really privileged." she wrinkles her nose.

"It's very clear you'd much rather have the people closest to you than these material things."

Abbie shrugs and tries to subtly gesture she'd like more soup. "It's all I've got."

"No siblings? partners?"

"Partners?" she queries, brows lifted. He studies her as he reaches for the bowl.

"Yes…..male, female, I don't judge, clearly. Someone you go home to?" he dips the spoon and brings it to her mouth, holding her gaze. "Someone you love, and loves you back."

Swallowing Abbie pauses, pinned in place by the warmth of his eyes. She feels very, very warm. "Not a one."

"I find that hard to believe." He muses, feeding her again he shifts and crosses his legs. She likes the way the skirt shifts, revealing his bare knee. It's endearing to her.

"Well believe it. What I do with my life now isn't a place for……partners."

"But surely you want?"

"Want?"

Crane stirs the spoon idly, as if he's found something mesmerizing in the broth.

"For companionship? Someone to care for you? hold you? Times such as these?"

"I have been grateful to have you here," she admits. "It is…..kinda nice, to not do everything entirely alone."he lifts his head at her words.

"It's been a privilege to be here for you."

"Tell me more about you," she says. In her head she curiously fluently. The last thing she should be doing is learning more about him, getting further tied up, but she can't seem to help it. Something about him makes her want to talk, to share.

"Nothing much. Spent the better part of my youth viewed as a bit of an outsider for who I was---but always knew who I was. Went into nursing and I loved it. Helping to heal people. Making a difference in lives, taking care of them, the comfort. "

"You have a knack for it," she says softly, meaningfully. "I can tell you get a lot of joy out of caring for others."

"Joy doesn't outweigh fear and anxiety, I fear." he says. He knocks the spoon around in a now empty bowl. "Oh dear." he mutters and then looks up at her. "Would you like more? I made enough to feed just about every walker in Red Light." he jokes.

Abbie shakes her head gently and turns her hand over, palm up on the bed. Without thinking he places his hand in hers, locking their fingers together."Keep talking," she whispers, stroking a thumb along the back of his hand.

"My mother made me a skirt once." he starts. "Hideous, awful flouncy thing." he blinks tears from his eyes. "I loved it with all my heart. God bless her,"

And so he lets the story of him, tumble out, she interjects sometimes and others listens quietly. He drops her hand to check her wound and make more food but keeps talking. He helps her sit up at last when she goes on a tirade. And while stiffly promenading her around the room he makes demands to know more of her past.

They talk, and talk and talk.

* * *

 

It goes on like this, the next day, and the day after. Growing close quick and fast in a deep way that should trouble them both but is natural as breathing. He lets her ease into the kitchen beside him on the third day. She sits in a chair at the table while he cooks. Donahue comes up and she offers that they should go and see him, figure out a way to get him in a proper rehab facility and----the words were scarcely out of her mouth before he'd swooped in on her, Holding her gingerly but still close, his lips brushing her ear.

"What would this world be without you?" he'd asked. "What cold unyielding hopeless place would I be living in, if it weren't for you."

"You seem to forget I kill people."

"You seem to forget, You saveten times more than the ones you've slain."

"Stop it---"

"Thank you, is what I'm trying to say, Treasure. Thank you for caring."

Treasure.

"That a nickname?" She asks, unsure if the idea thrills or terrifies her.

"A term of endearment," he says it so matter of fact. Like the sky is blue. Like the world is round.

It's after dinner when he decides to venture her outside, just to the porch and the bench out there for fresh air. She goes slowly with himand when they sit down she lands in his lap. She doesn't try to move away.

He doesn't try to move her.

Instead his arms cinch closer around her waist and he swings her legs up on the other side of him. "I think I'd like to try getting back to work," he muses, his breath rustling her hair. "At a clinic. I've missed…..I didn't realize how much I'd missed my life before fear. Everything before that night, became this far away, irretrievable thing I could never grasp again. But now," his voice trails off and he gazes out ahead into the expanse of trees, up over head at the subtle darkening sky.

She knots her fingers with his and can't be bothered with the little whining voice in her head telling her to let go. And he grips back. Her heart pounds to know he grips back and so fiercely. His eyes turn to her. "I'd be very happy for you if you did." She says. "See you get your life back."

His cheeks are rosy and his smile is sweet when he darts in quick, and lands a kiss on her cheek.

All of her hard edges and the blood on her hands but he handles her with care. Like she's precious and not like she's destruction embodied.

Crane holds her and they sit there outside, until it's dark.

He doesn't know if it's too soon to say; he got his life back when she entered his.

* * *

 

"Damn it" Abbie grumbles at end of the week. She's checking her phone online and there's footage rolling. Not of her, thankfully. But Solomon Kent. Alive and kicking.

"Damn."

"I thank you all for your prayers and wishes, and your diligent help in aiding me to find the terrorist known as The Witness. They set off a bomb at my ball, with all of those innocent people there and shot to do your Counsellor harm. I will not rest until this menace to society has been apprehended." Abbie shuts down the window.

Crane emerges from the washroom then in trousers, the heeled boots from the other night and a billowing tunic. His eyes are lined and his lids glitter. His hair he's tousled. She notices some days he takes more care with his appearance than others. Just like anyone else. It's been very sweet, really. On the odd occasion she's seen him parade out in front of the mirror, shake his head vehemently no and try again. She doesn't think she's seen him with eyeshadow yet.

"I like that colour on you," she mutters absently. His brow furrows and he comes over to sit on the edge of the bed. He's been sleeping just beside her, or in the chair bedside the past few nights.

"Thank you. I'm rather fond of purple in moderation." he nods toward the phone in her hands. He'd heard the broadcast. "He means toimplicate you in the bombing."

"To turn people against me." she grouches. "He's out to destroy my image and sow distrust----"

"Abbie." he interrupts, taking the phone gently from her hands. "He set you up. Don't you see?"

Until now the thought hadn't occurred. "He had a sniper there." she thinks out loud. "The one who shot me---he, he terrorized his own guests to lure me out, to catch me----"

"It was a _trap_ , Abbie." his voice is low and very careful. It takes a moment for her to understand, he's afraid for her. "And….you walked, right **_into_** , it."

The world slows.

It goes grey and fragments.

The eyes watching when they'd entered the room. Perhaps they hadn't been watching Crane at all. The sniper's aim was too accurate, too sure. They'd known how she would think. That she would gladly have used the diversion of the chaos to make her move. How long have they been watching her---has she not been as subtle as she thought?

She'd played, right into their hands, she'd almost died for it."I could be dead now." she says soberly. "Crane without you there-----"

"No---"

"Yes." she insists, turning in the bed to look at him proper. "Yes because if you weren't there, either I'd have died on site, orsomeone would have taken me to the hospital. And they'd have gone searching the beds, and found me. They'd try me, and then…."

"Don't say it Abbie don't you dare think it." he whispers fiercely. "You're alive. You're here. And I'm here with you……"

"No." Abbie shakes her head, running a hand through her tresses. She'd walked right into a trap with an innocent. It's possible she's being watched, who knows, "You can't stay with me, Crane, it's dangerous." she works her jaw. "I'll get you your money and you leave me here, got it? Take care of Donahue, go back to health care. Get your self back. That's what I've been doing this for. So people can have their lives----"

"I don't want your money." he snaps. So harshly it jars her. "You have a life _too_ , and in all this martyring for others I hope you're also fighting for yourself. Come out of this life, Abbie."

"What? after all I've done----"

"You've done enough, and nearly lost because of it. I am grateful for your fight and the way you have worked so hard to rid us of those walking human plagues. But it's enough now. Get _your_  life back Abbie."

The notion is insane. It's never occurred to her to stop before she was finished. It's not her way.

"I know we've only just met," he says, voice quavering. "I know….I am _me._ And I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but I am all of who I am…..and I am, I know in my heart of hearts I can't leave you. No matter what you do."

"Ichabod," she pants softly, realizing too late that he's been leaning in closer and closer.

"I don't want your money, _Witness._ I want…..I want **_you_** , **_Abbie_**."

She lets the words sink in.

It's too quick, their time together too short but the draw far too strong.

* * *

 

_"Ssh. You take care of the world. Abbie let me take care of you."_

_"It already feels like I've known you a life time---"_

_"Want?"_

_"For companionship? Someone to care for you? hold you? Times such as these?"_

_"Someone you love, and loves you back."_

* * *

 

"Come closer then," she breathes. Their eyes connect for a bare sliver of a moment, before his lips find hers. They fit together in a way that is obscene for the rightness of it.

Sparks flit through her being.

He's so careful with her, reaching to cradle her head as her lips part and his tongue slips past the barrier to tangle with hers. She knows in some ways he doubts her strength due to her injury but she reaches back for him, gliding her fingers through his hair and pulls him in closer still, increasing intensity and feeling her heart race.

On his part, it's been a long time since Crane has kissed someone, on the mouth. He refused kisses the first night he went out to work on the street. He'd been withholding that last frontier of intimacy for himself. For someone who would matter.

Now, his lips brushing, colliding, and sucking on the plump soft lower lip of a wanted, woman, A legend, a hero, a horror, an angel of deliverance all in one, it's like water after a long drought. He doesn't want to stop.

He thinks he should, because she's still healing and he knows he could lose control any moment now. Crane wants to tell himself, he's imagining this connection, nothing this fast could be this deep and this real, but it is.

With her, it is.

Their lives are bound together. They have seen each other bleed. They have been a small pinprick of light in the overbearing and far reaching gloom of the world they know today.

In this dark place, Abbie is his Bright Point.

And Crane is hers.

When they finally stop they lean their foreheads against each other, breathing the other in. "You taste like strawberry." She says with a smile.

"It might be my lip balm." he replies, before he goes in again, kissing her tenderly and slow. "Turn away from this," he pleads. "It's dangerous and…..finding you now I can't live with the threat of losing you."

"One more---just, one more job, Crane. Let me finish what I started here. And then….we can, can talk about where we go from here."

"It won't matter where, Abbie….." his face colours and he chuckles softly. "You're stuck with me now Treasure. I have a very stubborn heart."

She caresses his cheek. "I didn't think I did, but it looks like it might be true for me, too."


	3. Chapter 3

"Look up, don't blink,"

His fingers drum impatiently on her thighs."I am trying you know, it's been a long time since someone else----"

"I know," She chuckles softly. Because this is a tender sweet moment, even in light of what is to come tonight."I know I don't like makeup counters for that reason, but you're not getting----there. Finished, have a look." She reaches behind her from where she sits, straddling him, and proffers the hand mirror.

"Well, all my years and my wing has never turned out this nicely," he observes, turning his head this way and that. He rests the mirror down and sombrely pecks her cheek. "Now, your turn?"

Abbie giggles and runs her fingers through his hair. Were this any other day, she'd enjoy this more. Sitting astride him like this and playing with colours and hair. But tonight, is not any other night. This is ritual. This is war paint. These are the little sweet intimacies they share before they go forward.

"What are you going to do with it?" she asks.

"I saw a cornrow pattern the other day," ----because in between reading medical journalshe'd been watching videos online from her phone. "I think that would be best, for tonight," he says. She nods.

It's been two months since the night at Kent's party. The night they met. They've been at the cabin since, living in this quiet ruse of peace while she heals and he retools his resume. He started at a clinic last month, part time, but he comes back in high spirits. They went to visit Donahue in the old apartment he was staying on Red Light. Just yesterday.

* * *

 

They'd found him shivering and shaking in a corner, curled up, some substance she didn't want to describe in a puddle near by---trying in his own brutal unsupervised way to get clean. He'd lifted his droopy head when he'd heard the door and saw Crane. "Thought you were tired of me," he'd chattered. Sweat dripping from his skin. Crane had torn through the apartment in record time. He'd known where everything was. Or should be, ripping through cupboards and over turning drawers cursing.

"Damn itDonah----"

"You vanished," the man spat. "They've got Kent's bullies coming around here I couldn't even leave the house to look for you----been trying to tell you there's----" he'd heaved and spit up in a again. Keeling over on the side. "It hurts, my God Ichabod everything-----"

"Sssh, wait." Crane muttered. Abbie had watched in rapt silent horror as Crane suddenly strode towards a back room. She had followed swiftly after him, watching him push aside the weak framed bed and then patting the floor boards until he found one that seemed weak and wrenched it up. He pulled out a bag with everything he would need. Needle, vial-----she had had to duck out of the way when Crane bolted back around with it, back to where Donahue quaked.

"No, I'm trying, I'm really trying,"

"And failing at it." Crane snapped as he grasped for his arm and rifled in the bag for the band to it him. He waited patiently for a vein to arise---Abbie turned away.

"You're a bastard, " the man cursed.

"Your bastard, best you get the next hit now with me here than spiralling on your own. You had me up at all hours the last time, do you remember that?"

"I….I…..oh." Donahue shirked away from him, burying his face in his hands. "Where'd you find that anyway." he groused. "I tossed everything----"

"Your memory is addled." Crane surmised with a heavy sigh. "That was your emergency stash----pure luck you had it."

"Where have----who's she?"

"A friend." Crane replied tersely, feeling ashamed. He'd told Abbie so much about Donahue. The carefree bright light spirit he had been before that attack.

"Crane talks a lot about you," Abbie offers, stepping forward. "Why, why won't you go to a facility? Get help?"

"Intervention is it?" Donahue sneered. Crane turned away abruptly, eyes turning red. Abbie gets the distinct impression this is an argument they've had before.

"No," Abbie countered. "I just know…..I….." she's at a loss for words. This is the other man she saved that night and his life had changed so drastically. "I know you mean a lot to Crane and…..you need to get clean," biting her lips together. "I've been hearing on the news----"

Donahue's eyes for a moment register clarity. He swallows. "It's not safe to be out at night. That's why I was trying to get clean---get my head straight to leave, because being out----look for missing friends" he says pointedly and Crane's cheeks had flushed "----catch the eyes of the wrong people, and I've had my share----" he hissed as Crane gets him to his feet. She noted a limp. An odd crook of his arm. And on the opposite side of his face, coming towards his jaw, a sort of stiff flatness to it----a plate, she realizes. She hadn't looked very carefully at them the night of the attack, too intent on destroying their assailants, but Crane hadn't been exaggerating.

"It's constant." Donahue said, as if he noticed her inventory of his injuries. His scarring reminders of that night. "The pain is constant."

She felt abominably wretched that she hadn't been able to get there in time to prevent the assault to begin with. To spare Donahue this.

"What brings you by."

"To check on you." Abbie replied simply. For all she's done trying to destroy the higher powers, coming face to face with this, she feels helpless in a way she's never experienced before. It doesn't sit well on her shoulders, it puts bitterness on her tongue. Crane goes about heaving him into the lone chair, and goes about all of the other preamble, checking heart rate, his temperature. He props a cushion behind Donahue's head and goes for a glass of water. "Really, we, we came to take you out of here, if you'll go."

"And?"

"A facility, a proper one. Get you treated, and not here. Some place less…..hostile," Crane said. Him and Abbie had been doing research. "Get you out of here and get you clean. Will you go?"

"All the times you've tried and I never went what makes you think I will now."

Crane had pressed his lips firmly together and looked back at Abbie standing so far away. Looking like she wanted to help but didn't know how. She wants to fit in here but she can't. This isn't her experience and this isn't her life.

And he realized it can't be his, anymore either. He can't let high life slip away watching Donahue lose a grip on his own.

This can't be Donahue's life---not the way the world is today. Not the way they've been hearing things.

Round ups.

A camp gone up in flamesby 'accident'

Another bomb.

And Kent's face looming large on the screen demanding of the Sleepy Hollow denizens, "Where is your Witness? Your saviour and sovereign? Do they not see chaos in their streets? The weak being trampled? Why do they not come forward and rescue you?"

People are becoming distrustful and hostile. Conspiracy swirls on the air.

Some say this home grown terrorism is the doing of the Witness---more slander, more seeds of doubt---Some say it's Kent himself----which Crane and Abbie wholly believe. And there are rumbles in the news of rebels, waging small wars against Kent administration. But it's not the time to say nor act. Not when any of these events could be just another guise, an attack to lure her out again.

But it has been eating her alive, hearing these things while recuperating in relevant safety and comfort. Destroying her. And she can't stand for it any longer.

He knows the time is coming for her to finish this one last job, and they spoke, and agreed, they have the plan all in place, when the time is right----well, when it's done----they'll have to leave, Sleepy Hollow.

At least till the dust settles.

And that's why he hoped at last Donahue would take the help.

Because he won't be around much longer to offer.

"Because I won't ask again, Donahue." his bottom lip quivered. "I will not, I can not ask again. So will you go."

Donahue had turned his green eyes on Abbie. "Something about you, feels familiar."

Abbie choked on air and spluttered. "I---"

"You taking him away from me for good, is that it?"

"Donahue," Crane begins, his tone admonishing.

"Promise me you'll take care of him." Donahue addresses her, nodding to Crane weakly.

"Donahue!"

"Promise me,"

Abbie's gaze shoots from Donahue and then over to Crane. Her heart is soft and warm looking at him. She can't deny that. It's not a hard thing to agree to. Abbie already knows she will care for Crane with her whole heart and life, and that he will do the same for her. "I vow it." she says. "I vow, I'll take care of him."

A dim light sparks in Donahue's eyes.

For the first time Donahue smiled. "I figured you would." he nodded at Crane. "I'll go."

* * *

 

They returned to the cabin and for the first time Crane had seemed to need comforting. He'd crawled up in the bed beside her, laying his head on her lap while she combed through his hair with her fingers. "I don't know how you dealt with that, I couldn't."

"Let's not talk of it anymore." he'd plead, leaning up he had kissed her softly and had made quiet, thoughtful plans on how they would get Donahue out the following day.

But it never happened.

They woke to the news thatRed Light was burning.

The whole street.

A sickening number reported dead.

Kent had been grumbling about the seediness and uncleanliness of dwellers in Red Light just the week before. It couldn't be a coincidence.

They'd sat there in horror listening to the footage emit from her phone. Crane cried. "Oh my God." he wept, clinging to her. Abbie held him, tears burning her own eyes. She wanted to be strong for him but it was so hard. Her heart ached.

"Don'thold back for me, cry if you need to," he said. "For this moment Abbie don't let me be alone. Please, don't---"

And they crumpled and folded into one another.

Thinking of the fact that they had seen Donahue just the day before. And now, now…….shadows seemed to swirl with malice over every possibility of light.

"I'm sorry," Abbie cried. "Crane I'm so sorry, we should have been ready to take him yesterday. I failed him, I failed you,"

"No---"

"I should have known better," she shook even as she held him. "I should've----"

"You saved his life once. You already did right by him Abbie, it's only your giving heart that wanted still to do so much more."

"I'm sorry, Crane. Please forgive me---"

"There's nothing to forgive." he said, pulling back to look into her eyes. "We tried."

The footage keeps playing and of course then there is Solomon Kents voice.

"Witness!" he challenged. "Come and save your city---or is it you bringing them to ruin? Where are you? Where is this great care you promised them?"

She began to thrash in Crane's arms, anger overwhelming her.

"Sssh treasure, calm down."

"I'll kill him, I'll kill him Crane, I've had enough. The time is now. We finish Solomon Kent, tonight."

"Are you---"

"Yes." she assured him, brushing tears from his cheeks and then leaning forward to kiss him twice, the corner of his mouth and flinging her arms around him. "Tonight is it, Crane."

He'd held her tight, burrowing his nose into her hair and inhaling deep. "Together." he said. "We do it together or not at all. I vow not to leave you."

"Ichabod, I----"

"After. When we've killed hate, tell me after." his face softened and she admired his lashes as she admired her fire bright determined eyes. He was torn up and in mourning but still in his blood thrummed a hunger for vengeance that he had never known before. A hot heated desire for better, for tomorrows, for a future.

A future, with her.

A future in which there would be less hate and evil.

In which he could show her more good, and love.

* * *

 

So here they are some hours later.

They've packed and cleaned out allevidence that they were ever at the cabin to begin with.

They had gone to see Caroline, stocked a new wardrobe, last on the list after they stopped by her house for supplies. Her axe, Grace.

Caroline had frowned as she'd watched the pile of clothes grow. "Vacation?" she'd asked.

Abbie had pursed her lips sourly. "Something like that."

Caroline commented on the horrible news plaguing them all as of late. Growing more incensed as she talked about it. When Abbie was set to pay she gave her too much and Caroline called her back at the last moment.

"This is too much Abbie, I can't"

"Keep it." Abbie insisted, folding the woman's fingers back over the roll of cash. "Get out, get yourself safe."

Caroline pocketed the cash and then had met Abbie's gaze head on. "Is there anything else you need." she asked, voice suddenly gone dutiful. Serious.

Abbie and Crane exchanged a glance and eyes her carefully. "Excuse me?"

"Anything _else_ , you need," Caroline repeated meaningfully. "Whatever it is, i can get it." she brushed her hair back from her face. "If there is anything I can do---"

"Take that money and run. Make the best difference in the world that you can as yourself, but be safe, Caroline."

"I vow it."

That makes them both pause. Abbie narrows her eyes. "Caroline---"

"Don't say anything else. What we don't say we don't have to lie for."

Realization dawns on Abbie then. She'd been underestimating Caroline. Was she part of a rebel cause, who could know for sure----but it was evident, she hadn't been fooling as many people as she'd thought.

"Alright then. Take care Caroline."

A curt nod, and then her eyes went to Crane. "Take care of her,"

Crane's hand had landed solidly on Abbie's shoulder.

"Vow it." Caroline insisted through gritted teeth.

"I vow, to take care of her. Miss Caroline."

"Then go," Caroline urged. And reaching behind the counter threw the raggedy fur from that first nightover to him. "Goodwill wouldn't take it." she called with a smile.

"Bye Caroline."

"Bye." she'd whispered, closing the door and dropping the shade behind them as they left.

They'll be ready to leave, once Crane finishesthis braid. "Ready?"

Abbie exhales and turns to him, memorizing his face. The black liner and the thick lashes. She wonders if they'll really survive tonight, to taste the strawberry chapstick on his lips. To touch him,and have him in deeper ways---their intimacy had stopped at kisses andtight embraces. "You look great." she hears herself say, taking in the sleek all black they'd bought tonight. Blouse, boots, cape.

"I pale in comparison." he smiled softly, even though she was dressed the same.

"Stick to the plan." she leaned forward and pecked his lips.

"Consider it stuck."

"No heroics."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"And no matter what happens you run."

Crane falters on this one. "You know I can't….."

"Crane, I need you to trust me on this one. If I say run, I need you have to do it."

"I vowed---"

"And I won't make a liar out of you. But you have to trust me."

"I'll be very, very cross with you if---"

"Sssh." she silences him with a finger to his lips and then kisses him, deeply, a kiss of promise. A promise she prays she'll be able to fulfill.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The stations work overtime, buzzing with reports. Solomon Kentspeaks, his aides speak. Protestors take to the streets, of rival camps. Some call to over throw the government----fed up, disgusted by the recent unexplained round ups. The sudden disappearance of their justice warrior the Witness.

The others, Party members and Kent Followers question the hero's absence.

The streets are turmoil.

More fires rage and authorities in riot gear crowd the roads. There is tear gas. There is screaming. There is gun fire.

"If the Witness cares so much for you---why do they not come forward and submit themselves to justice for their crimes? They have incited division among you. They have bombed your homes. Murdered your politicians----" static.

"This is your Witness. Tonight, I set you free."

* * *

 

"This is your Witness."

"This is your Witness."

"This is your Witness."

It took everything in Abbie not to stagger in shock when she heard the announcement echoing. Radios and televisions in shop windows.

"This is your Witness."

" I am she."

"I am he"

"I am between"

"I am believer."

"I am worshipper."

"I am saint."

"I am sinner."

"I am design."----Abbie and Crane darted through the streets, towards Solomon Kent's manor and offices. They've finished rigging the homes of his second and command with the explosives, but she pauses because she knows that voice. Caroline.

"I am broken"----- Crane pauses too, knees buckling. Abbie snaps back into focus and hauls hurriedly on Crane's arm----because she knows what she he heard, she heard it too.

They sprint faster, emboldened by the rebel yell echoing through the lines.

"This is your Witness."

"Your Witness."

"You are us."

"We are you."

"I vow"

"I vow"

"I vow"

The chant stops existing within the crackle and hum of technology and becomes a live voice. The rebels, the resistance, whatever one might call them, find renewed strength, even as they are beaten down to rail against their oppression and march forward. From their vantage point on a roof, they can see the group wears all black.

Outfits that look like the ones they purchased earlier from Caroline. Abbie's suspicions are confirmed. They're taking back the city. After tonight, it's going to be theirs again.

They scramble from the roof, breaking a window as they swing in. Her gun is out and Crane wields a darts and a gun of his own. Her axe is within reach.

They're assaulted immediately.

They cut Solomon's men down, one by one, they fall in blood. They fall under the weight of the lives they have stolen and crushed. They die with sins on their heads and blood on their hands.

When they've cleared the floor they barrel along down the corridor, they strike into a media room and Abbie quickly hacks the system. One more announcement. This one is crucial.

"This is your Witness." she decries, standing before a camera where people can clearly see where she is, though her face she disguised.

Down below, where the rebels fight, everyone turns and stops at the sound of the voice. screens in homes suddenly zoom in on Kent's, and his top aides homes.

"Out of fire and ash, we rise."

Crane presses the button.

The homes of his advisors and supporters begin to detonate. Erupting in flames and smoke.

Kent's will be the last to go. She leaves the tapes running, and tosses a camera to Crane, instructing that he keep feeling as she goes charging down the hall. Abbie demolishes the security that comes their way, and takes her axe in hand as she runs and weaves and kicks the door down of Solomon Kent's office. He holds a gun.

"At last, we meet, Witness."

"At last, Kent."

"Pity it wasn't on more agreeable terms. You've single handedly destroyed this beautiful city you claim to care for?"

"You would sell any lie to bring me low."

Crane advances slowly outside, trying to keep his distance so as not to be detected by Kent, trying to record and broadcast.

"It worked, didn't it. All of those, creatures, you care for. The sluts of Red Light. The cheating treasonous immigrants. The thugs like yourself. You came out to avenge them."

"Your men are dead because you goaded me."

"It was worth it. Because I have you here, now, Witness. Which is faster, bullet or blade?"

Abbie grins. "I guess you'll tell me"

A shot rings. Several. A grunt, a kick.

Crane drops the camera and lunges inside, setting off his own round of fire.

He dodges a bullet and Abbie knocks the weapon from Kent's hand. She brings up the axe but he fights. He catches and struggles against her with it, backing her hard into a wall.

Outside the flames in the distance leap higher and nearer.

They don't have much time. This house will blow soon. Crane scrabbles for his gun and aims for Solomon. He shoots his ankle and Kent staggers.

His grip on the axe slackens and Abbie kicks him away, raises her arms to swing.

Blood.

A clean cut that makes Crane's stomach revolt.

Spattering everywhere.

Discarded on the floor, the camera still rolls.

"Witness!" he calls desperately, "Witness!"

"Run!" she calls back.

Crane balks.

"The building, it's going to----"

"I know----I said RUN."

"I---can't"

Abbie curses she vaults over Solomon's decapitated body and grabs Crane's arm, pitching him down the hall. Thinking that she follows close behind, he starts to run.

She grabs the camera aiming it at herself. "This is your Witness. Out of fire and ash, I rise. I vow it."

Down below, the visual is interrupted by the deafening whoosh and crackle of an explosion.

They all saw it.

Solomon Kent, his officials, all dead.

The rebels scream triumph.

Sleepy Hollow burns.

And The Witness, is gone.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The rebels held government after. The night of Kent and the Party burned, called Phoenix.

When the darkness burned, but hope for a new start rose.

Displaced residents of the Red Light fire found shelter among the rebels with room. There hadn't been many that survived that fire---but there were a few who'd managed to be rescued by the rebels first and in secret because they distrusted all of the authorities and media.

One, who had leant his voice in the effort amid the media take over, a bent foot and crooked arm, and a ravenous addiction----had wept openly at as the footage played of the Witnesses last words.

"Did….did you know them?" Caroline asked in awe herself. Trying not to let her heart break. Trying not to believe, one of her best clients, and her friend, had just died after such a brilliant fight. In front of all of them.

"I think I did." he'd said. "I think she saved me once already and she was supposed to look after my friend. Sparkly stork of a thing. They were supposed to get me……help me get sober"

"What's your name?"

"Donahue." he'd replied.

"Make the best difference in the world that you can as yourself,"

"I'll help you."

Donahue blinked warily at her. "How."

"…….She left me something….the Witness. Told me to make a difference----she made a promise to you. I'll fulfill it."

While the town was disarray and in complete shambles, there was talk of effort to rebuild.

But that same day Caroline packed up Donahue, carefully as she could and drove out of the ruin of Sleepy Hollow.

To be safe.

To get Donahue clean.

To find their Bright Point.

* * *

 

A week out from the death of Kent and all those would have happily followed him, the news was in aflurry and parties and other leaders scrambled against the rebellions cropping up in their cities.

Camps were destroyed and the people released.

But round ups increased.

But voices were raised.

And fighters for their freedom and rights rose.

They were taking back the world, piece by piece.

* * *

 

Far far far out by a lake. In a quaint house, night falls.

The soreness from her fall out the window she'd thrown herself out of had finally worn off. And his sprained ankle from the tumble down the stairs didn't hurt as much.

They had barely escaped the blast in time. They had smelled of smoke for days.

But they are out from under tyranny and fear now. And they have each other, and freedom.

The Witness is dead.

but she lives.

* * *

 

She sits on the edge of the bed and glances up as the bathroom door swings open. There's Crane. In a forest green slip and silk robe. He strides purposefully towards her and then swings a leg over, straddling her on the bed. She smiles up at him. His beautiful bare face, and brushes his hair back from his eyes. She begins to peel the robe off his shoulders, chasing the revealed skin with kisses.

"I love you, Ichabod," she whispers at last, tilting her head up to kiss his mouth. He kisses her joyously with abandon, pressing close until he knocks her on her back. Her hands bunch in the slip, riding up his backside, and she palms the bare cheeks, turned on that he's not wearing anything underneath the nightie. She can feel his hardness prodding at her.

"I love you, Abbie. And I will for as long as I live. I vow it."

She smiles against his lips before he starts kissing her again. Lips parting and tongues swirling and she arches beneath him, aching for him to touch her and moans her relief when his hands cups her breasts through her shirt. He fondles and massages her that way for a minute before removing shirt and bra and then happily sucking a nipple into his mouth.

"Ohh," she moans, hands grasping in his hair.

Her skin tastes impossibly sweet. He releases one nipple for the other and lets his hands slide downwards, running a finger around the ridge of her underwear. Down, lower, to where it is wet and warm and silk.

"For me?"

"No the other man in a slip yes you," she taunts breathlessly. He pushes inward and she groans. "Ichabod, oh Ichabod, please,"

"Abbie," he murmurs reverently, pulling back to remove the scrap of fabric and throwing a leg over his shoulder he presses kisses along her thighs and lovingly slowly, labours to bring her pleasure. She writhes with it. It coils her tight and releases her and then when he's satisfied with the quivering mass he's reduced her to, he lifts the slip so she can see the hot thick long piece of steel that desires to sheath itself in her wet centre.

"I want you. Ichabod I _need_ you."

He pushes in slow, to let her adjust for his size. "Treasure?" he pants.

" _Yes?_ "

"I love you."

"I know."

"I'm going to make love to you."

"I want your love, give it to me."

He leans forward to kiss and then begins to thrust. She holds on, she clings to him. Revelling in the feeling that their bodies are joined. She loves the sounds he makes. She loves the feel of the satin still beneath her fingers. She loves his eyes.

He loves her spirit. He loves her curves and the scar she has from that fateful night. He loves her hair that still carries on it a distant tinge of smoke. He loves her lips and how her walls clench greedily, hungrily around him. Owning him, commanding him. When she cries out his name he holds the pace to take her over again before chasing his own release.

She curls up beside him after. Lips softly touching still and a sort of happiness they'd given up on fluttering in their hearts.

The world is still quagmire in some ways.

But there is change on the tide.

For now, they have each other.

They have love.

They have, Bright Points.


End file.
